


In the Hills of Pienza

by mkmrkp



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Frerard, Italy, M/M, Medieval, Renaissance, Renaissance Era, Royalty, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkmrkp/pseuds/mkmrkp
Summary: Hello all!!I'm super excited to be starting a full fledge fanfic!!I hope you all love it as much as I love writing it ((:Just a quick note-I am an Italian student, but am not completely fluent in the language. I try my best and have translated everything as closely as I can. Still, there may be some mistakes. The English is in bold right next to it. Bare with me!!As always, I encourage comments & critiques!!Enjoy!!-xom
Relationships: Frank Iero & Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Gerard Way & Frank Iero, Gerard Way/Frank Iero
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!!  
> I'm super excited to be starting a full fledge fanfic!!  
> I hope you all love it as much as I love writing it ((:  
> Just a quick note-  
> I am an Italian student, but am not completely fluent in the language. I try my best and have translated everything as closely as I can. Still, there may be some mistakes. The English is in bold right next to it. Bare with me!!  
> As always, I encourage comments & critiques!!  
> Enjoy!!   
> -xom

_"Amare qualcuno non è facile. . . ma ne vale la pena."_

Rays of heated beams pulsed down from the sweltering Italian sun. A familiar, yet scorching humidity filled the air just as it had the previous day. The signature smell of burning tobacco and baking Zuccotti swarmed overhead, complimenting the Tuscan air.

"Franco! Franco Iero!" An elder gentleman called throughout the corridors of the house. The name echoed against the stone walls, followed by an eerie silence that almost never occurred in la Casa di Iero. With a cocked eyebrow, the elder man marched down the hall and stopped in front of a large wooden door—the only door that had been shut throughout the entire hallway. He raised his shaking fist before banging loudly on it, waiting a few seconds for some sort of reply.

Still, no answer.

The man huffed out a short breath, rubbing the pads of his index and middle finger between his furrowing eyebrows before banging on the wooden piece once more. He muttered softly to himself before barging into the room.

Upon entering, he expected to see his son sprawled out on his bed, mouth wide open in a mid-morning’s slumber and unsuspecting of his father’s presence. Instead, he saw the aforementioned bed neatly made and surprisingly untouched. But, the piece that had shown signs of disturbance was the large window that stood directly in front of him, swung open with the wind blowing gently at the long curtains. With a small, yet dramatic sigh, the man slinked over and stuck his head out of the window before craning his neck. He was greeted by the view of his son: a short boy of 18 years with olive-toned skin and long, dark hair that danced up in the short, but appreciated gusts of wind. The boy leaned the weight of his body back on his two hands, sighing happily as he remained close-eyed and soaked in the Italian sun. The elder man frowned.

“Franco.” He cleared his throat loudly, causing the younger boy to startle and look over at him through squinted eyes.

“Cosa, papà?” _**(What, Dad?)**_ Franco said with a sense agitation in his voice. “E per favore, chiamami Frank.” _**(And please, call me Frank.)**_

The elder man rolled his eyes at his son’s response, simply waving a beckoning hand in his direction as he ducked his head back inside and quickly exited the room. Frank cocked his eyebrow and leaned more towards the window.

“Papà? Cosa?” _ **(Dad? What?)**_

No response.

Frank let out a frustrated puff of air before scrambling across the hot roofing as he made an attempt to gracefully reenter his room. He landed on the floor with a plop of his feet and a slight wobble to gain his balance. The short boy stretched his arms far above is head, letting out a loud groan before slouching and looking at himself in the mirror directly to his side. He stumbled over to the vanity, still feeling slightly clouded by the blanket of sleep he was engulfed in just ten minutes prior, and drunk off of the sun that shone down harshly on his skin. He rubbed his eyes in a similarly lazy manor, pulling at them before yet again hearing the loud call of, “FRANK!”

The teen slinked out of his room and down the corridor which led to a case of stairs that winded into a sharp, stoned spiral. He trailed his calloused fingers across the rocky walls as he shuffled carelessly, eventually entering into the main hallway of the large house.

Casa di Iero were known for their wealthy yet quiet lifestyle in the hills of Pienza, Toscana. They were a dynasty of well-to-do bankers that profited largely off of their participation in the wine industry, bustling in money off of multiple vineyards among other things. Everyone in town knew all the members of Casa di Iero, but most chose to focus on the youngest: the son of Franco il secondo Iero and Linda Iero. That was Frank.

The teen was known for being the loose screw of the family. He was obviously aware of his family’s position in their society. Hell, it was to the point where they were almost assimilated with names such as Casa de’ Medici and Casa de Della Rovere. Yet, the kid had a knack for getting into mischief. He never attended meetings as told or participated in the family practice in almost way, no. Instead, the boy often rode his horse into town to befriend the other teens along the streets, no matter how wealthy or poor they may be. He messed around with business owners and flirted with people taking their daily strolls. It was all he had, really. Such activities gave his life excitement, which he considered it severely lacked.

Frank looked from side to side before seeing his father and mother sitting just outdoors at a table and promptly walking out to greet them, kissing both sweetly on their temples. “Buongiorno, mama e papà.” _**(Good morning, Mom and Dad.)**_ He offered as he scooted out a chair to join the two. Upon him sitting down, though, his father quickly waved a hand as his eyes bugged out of his head. Frank threw his head back and ran his fingers through the brown mess. “Per favore, papà. Per favore. Cosa?” _**(Please, Dad. Please. What?)**_

His father let out a scoff, eyeing at his wife who sat quietly, her fingers nimbly working at the piece of embroidery that was sat just perched in her lap. He turned his attention to his son, who was eyeing at his father. “Hai dimenticato. Hai dimenticato!” _**(You forgot. You forgot!)**_

Frank’s father, Franco il secondo, had always been one for blowing situations way out of proportion. Frank, being the only current child of him, took the blunt of his over-the-top spurts, ranging from not helping out around the house to accidentally leaving the gates of their property open, resulting in the runaway of their farm animals and robbery of their crops. No matter the situation, Franco il secondo always found reasons to become hot headed, especially when it came to his son. Frank was almost convinced that the man was more satisfied when he was angry.

“Il calzolaio, Franco? Le mie scarpe?” _**(The shoemaker, Frank? My shoes?)**_ Frank’s eyes widened quickly at his father’s words. The cobbler! He completely forgot he had to pick up his father’s shoes! And with that, Frank bolted up from his seated position, banging his knee harshly off the wooden underside of the table.

“Merda!” _**(Shit!)**_ He cursed before eyeing his mother as he rubbed viciously at the tender spot, hoping she had not heard him. “Mi dispiace, papà. Mi molto molto molto dispiace,” _**(I** **am sorry, Dad. I am so so so sorry.)**_ He knew his apologies never worked, only usually gained a rise further out of the older man, but the effects of him just running off to complete the task at hand would not be very good, either. “Li recupererò ora!” _**(I will get them now!)**_

And just like that, Frank bolted back inside and up the spiral stair case, skidding back into his room. He threw on his usual baggy white camicia, letting the strings near his collar hang loosely instead of being tied tight as they should have been. His brown pants sat equally as baggy on his hips before being fastened with a belt at the waist. He wet his hands in the basin that resided next to his vanity and raked them through his hair until it was at the style of his liking. With a smile and a nod, the young man threw on his own pair of shoes before quickly retreating to the horse stables and making his way into the town.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride from the Iero’s grandeur villa was just a short 20 minutes from the main piazza of Pienza. It was always a joy when Frank was sent into town, since that gave him reason to dawdle around the shops and ever winding streets that were filled with oh-so many different characters.

Upon arrival, Frank stopped atop his favorite horse, trusty Pisello Dolce _**(Sweet Pea**_ **)** , and took in the view of the lively piazza. It was now closer to afternoon and the school children were released home for their lunch break while many shops continued on with their hard work. Performers scattered the corners of the large square as many pedestrians strolled by. Nonne and Nonni staggered arm in arm whilst teenagers sat happily on the uneven walls outside of the Cattedrale di Pienza. Frank gained a devilish smile as he spotted a group of familiar faces.

“Ciao, raga!” _**(Hey, guys!)**_ His voice boomed from his corner of the buzzing square, somehow catching the attention of the trio he had been addressing. Smirks plastered on the teen’s faces, gaining waves as he rode over to greet them.

“Frankie, what brings you here?” The one girl called sweetly, shielding her eyes from the sun that was beating down directly behind the boy who was still mounted on the stallion. Her English was broken, but spoken in a way that still could be understood if need be. Frank crinkled his nose and looked up at the sky as if he was searching for the words he wanted to convey. He looked back down at the three figures seated below him, his brain seeming to have finally switched gears.

“Papà Iero had some shoes brought to the cobbler.” The words fell slowly from Frank’s mouth, his accent flowing with the thickness of honey. English was one of the languages his father insisted that he become fluent in, as there seemed to be more and more Englishmen partaking in the Italian culture.

The small group of friends he had acquired in front of him all spoke the foreign tongue as well. The kind girl who had spoken to him first was Jamia, a young Northern girl who had been raised by a family of Arabic immigrants. She was now 19 and seated happily next to another one of Frank’s dearest friends, Ray. Raimondo was born and raised in Valle D’Aosta throughout his childhood before moving to Toscana in his early pubescence. Frank and him had met while attending school, and were introduced to Jamia via an accidental run in at the very piazza they all occupied.

Lastly, another woman sat to the side of Ray: Lindsey Ballato. Lindsey was the daughter of another widely respected Italian family, Casa di Ballato. The girl was a strict mix of French from her maternal side and Italian from her father. Since both the Iero’s and Ballato’s worked closely together, Frank and Lindsey ended up being best friends since their childhoods. The two spent a copious amount of time together thanks to the countless hours their fathers wasted by chattering about things such as politics or business. So, essentially, anything that would make a child’s stomach churn.

“You’d better hurry before the afternoon rush comes, then.” Ray suggested, pointing over toward the building that inhabited the cobbler. The crowd on the piazza was slowly growing larger, which meant that all of the businesses would quickly fill up and acquire lines in the sweltering summer sun. With a short huff and a nod, Frank offered a soft farewell to his friends before riding his horse over to building. He hopped off saddle he was perched on and tied her reigns to wooden fixture on the side of the building. He gently leaned his forehead against the animal’s, giving her an endearing smile. “Uno momento, bella” he chuckled softly, giving the horse one last pat to her side before walking away and entering the shoe cobbler’s shop.

Upon entering, Frank squinted his eyes to adjust to the darker scenery. The inside of the Cobbler’s shop was damp, cold, and came with a musty smell that hit as soon as you opened the door. The windows were practically covered by boxes containing all different types of shoes: new orders that were waiting to be touched, or old orders that were patiently sitting inside the small shop in hopes their owners would return to retrieve them soon. To his right, three elder gentlemen sat almost tiredly as they grumbled quiet conversations to each other, eyeing at Frank upon his arrival. The younger boy simply smirked.

“Salve, signori!” _**(Hello, gentlemen!)**_ The teen exclaimed enthusiastically, causing each one of the men to jump in their seats. There was a chorus of forced ‘ciao’s and ‘Franco’s before they immediately turned back to their quiet conversation. Frank’s dark eyes lingered upon the group for just a few seconds longer before he redirected his attention and approached the man seated at the front desk.

Upon inspection, the employee was not paying any attention to who had entered the shop. He sat pleasantly in his seat, seemingly enthralled with whatever he was working on in his lap. He looked fairly young, perhaps the around the age of Frank. His skin was as pale as milk, wrapping around his body smoothly and flowing under the collar of his clothing. His hair was a shade of black pulled into a small bun at the nape of his neck while small strings fell out of the tie messily, mostly gathered around the sides of his face with the exception of a few dangling in front of his eyes.

Frank raised his eyebrow at this human. He practically knew almost everyone in the town, and they knew him. It was not often that he was challenged with the presence of someone knew, unless it was a newborn child or someone of foreign roots. But, even so, he knew everyone who owned shops in the town’s piazza, along with all of their families. How was it possible that he let this mysterious man slide from his memory? Frank’s eyes flickered between the man in front of him and the store, scanning for any side of the owner before looking back down at the pale being. He cleared his throat loudly, causing the pupil to whip his head up quickly and reveal his wide, hazel-colored eyes.

“Ciao, signor.” _**(Hello, sir.)**_ Frank offered as the man fumbled to shove whatever he was working on into a drawer near the desk. Frank’s eyes followed his fidgety hands as he cocked his eyebrow slightly at him. “Sono qui per ordine di mio padre.” **_(I am here for my father's order.)_**

To Frank’s surprise, though, the figure just sat at the desk after he had spoken, staring at him blankly. His mouth opened slightly as a small sting of unintelligible groans of confusion came from his small lips, eyes darting nervously around the store. What was wrong with him? Had Frank said something wrong?

“Cosa? Perché hai paura?” _**(What? Why are you scared?)**_ Frank offered, leaning one hand on the desk as he eyed the young man up and down. He had to admit, his curiosity was getting the best of him. The figure below him sat as still as a board, remaining a choking mess of mumbles and confused noises. Frank felt as if he was a cat about to pounce on this unsuspecting mouse…but that’s not what he intended to convey in the slightest. In complete honesty, he just wanted to retrieve the damn shoes and leave as soon as possible.

Finally, though, the boy at the desk seemed to have collected enough of his thoughts to muster out a timid, “Mi dispiace, signor, ma non capisco.” _**(I am sorry, sir, but I do not understand you.)**_

Frank’s expression immediately softened with a slight chuckle. Once the words slowly spilled from the man’s mouth, he understood. His accent was not of Italian land, and the language fell heavily from his foreign tongue. Frank sat slightly on the edge of the desk, sucking his teeth before giving him a quick nod.

“Ah… Français?” Frank offered, trying to nail down what the man’s native language was. He knew the accent was familiar, but he simply could not put his finger on it.

His eyes widened to the point where they looked like saucers, shaking his head furiously as a small pink shade began burning at the apples of his cheeks. “No! I, uh….”

“Deutsch?”

“No, I’m—” He continued to get flustered under Frank’s guessing, which encouraged Frank to press on even farther.

“Polskie? Russki? Türk, suomalainen, dutch…”

“What?!” The man finally called out of exasperation, his head seeming to be visibly spinning. Frank opened his mouth slightly and smiled.

“Oh…an Englishman.” This ended up being quite obvious to Frank once he thought about it. From the wobbly tone in which his Italian came out, and the clueless nature that spread over his face when Frank started listing off different languages, he was kicking himself for not realizing right away. The man, still seated at the desk and gripping the chair arms with white knuckles, swallowed thickly before giving Frank a slow nod.

“Sì, signor, mi dispiace—” _**(Yes, sir, I am sorry-)**_ He began, but was quickly cut off by the wave of Frank’s and hiss from the back of his throat. Frank paused for a second as he grasped for his own words before continuing what he wanted to say.

“No, there is no need. I know English.” Frank smiled slightly, letting off a louder chuckle as he watched the man instantly relax from his tense position and rub his forehead in a frustrated manor.

“My Italian is not the best, as you can see…” He offered, almost shyly. He tucked a lock of loose dark hair behind his ear before rubbing at the soft blush that graced his cheeks. The motion was pointless, but was an attempt to pull himself away from the awkward situation.

Frank’s mind was buzzing as he continued to drink in all of the features of the man now sitting comfortably underneath his looming presence. How had he not known of the Englishman in town? If anything, he should have been the first one to know. He prides himself on being nosey and knowing everyone’s current business, which ultimately led to the eventual annoyance of all residents within a 20-kilometer radius.

“No need to apologize…” He started, trailing off as he noticed he did not know the boy’s name. He raised an eyebrow, using the action as a method of inquiry. The boy’s eyes widened before nodding and offering out a mumbled,

“Gerard. Gerard Way. Of Plymouth. Devonshire.” His words came out choppy, as if unsure of his answer. But, Frank was not going to be picky. He now knew where he was from and his name, so that was a score in his book. Frank decided that there would be no harm in inquiring further with the boy.

Throughout the conversation, Frank found out that Gerard had indeed been in Pienza since his arrival 3 years ago at the age of 16. His family, back in Devonshire, were not of wealthy origin by any means, and were far from anything pleasant. He had cut off all connection to them except for the occasional letter between himself and his younger brother, Michael, whom he was always extremely close with. Gerard had been taken in by the town’s shoe cobbler after he found him out on the street begging for food just weeks after his arrival. The shoe cobbler himself grew to not be very fond of Gerard, for he did not necessarily have a knack for the line of work that had suddenly been thrust upon him. Nonetheless, he offered the bare minimum of care by housing the boy and letting him work in the back of the cobbler shop earn a little bit of pay. It wasn’t until recently, when his Italian had gotten a bit better, that he was allowed to work front desk.

“That explains why I have never seen you before.” Frank said with an awe-struck expression. He knew Signor Pazzaglia. The whole town was fond of the quiet cobbler, and had nothing but good things to speak of him. No one knew of this more vicious side of him, which had seemed to progressively get worse the longer Gerard was staying with him.

“Yes…it sure does.” Gerard smiled slightly as he stood up. “What is the name of your order? I will go fetch it for you.”

“Oh, uh…Franco Iero. It’s for my father.” Frank said, knowing the reaction that was going to proceed his words. Gerard’s head whipped around as he carefully scanned Frank’s face, then looked him up and down. Frank was never one to be conscious of himself, but in that moment when the boy’s eyes wandered over his body, he felt as if he was being raked apart in the most unusual way. Gerard’s face seemed as if he had seen a ghost.

“I am, tremendously sorry. I shouldn’t have been acted as casual as I did—” Gerard began, his voice laced with nervousness and a slight tinge of fear. With the amount of power his family held within their society, it was almost a get-out-of-jail-free-card for Frank. Everyone knew their family and the political power they held above everyone’s heads. But, in all honestly, Frank was less than amiable of this reality. He often dreamed of a life where he was just a normal person to the shop owners or anyone he held a conversation with. He never wanted to scare people off, or make them apply a filter to their personality simply because he dawned a last name that he could not shake.

Frank sighed and shook his head, trying to think of a way to sooth Gerard’s tense emotions. “Gerard, please. I do not care. I am not my father,” he cooed softly, his voice coming out lower and as comforting as he could muster. “I appreciate you treating me like a normal person.”

Gerard stopped his apologetic babbling as soon as Frank spoke, his hands clutched tightly to his chest. The familiar cherry-toned red filled his face as it had prior in their conversation, giving the pale tone of his skin more variation. Gerard knew the power Frank’s family held within the community… or, at least he was told. He had never interacted with the boy or his family a day in his life, but was often reminded of their status through the talk of both Signor Pazzaglia and their customers.

A small vale of relief flooded over his face again, but instead of apologizing, he gave Frank a simple nod and disappeared around the corner into the back of the shop to retrieve Franco’s order.

Frank’s eyes lingered at the doorway in which the boy had dipped into before drawing his eyes back to the desk. He scanned the desk as a whole, running his fingers along the intricately carved edges and then smoothing his hand out across the top. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank spotted a book lying open in a drawer that was partially closer next to where Gerard had been seated. At first, he simply shrugged it off and let his eyes wander the rest of the shop, but then quickly retreated to staring at the open book again. Gerard had been so deeply absorbed into that thing when he entered the shop, and he wanted to know what was so interesting about it. Letting his curiosity get the best of him, he scooted across the top of the desk even more and pulled the drawer out so he could get a better view.

On the pages stood three pictures, seemingly hand drawn. They were of the old men who were still bickering away in the shop. In each picture, their wrinkles were defined by the deep shade of charcoal brushed hurriedly, yet gracefully across the page. The first picture was of the taller man. His tufts of hair were portrayed by a light dusting of shaded wonder, and glasses perched carefully upon the tip of his hooked nose. The second picture was of the man in the group who seemed to be leading the conversation. The sketch was of his side profile and portrayed him with his mouth wide open and strings of spit between his gapped teeth, presumably for comedic effect, even though it was still terribly accurate. The third and final sketch we of the plumper man in the trio. The pencil lines fit perfectly around the roundness of his rose-bitten cheeks, sweat glistening at the top of his forehead due to humidity within the shop. Frank ran his fingers across the sketches, admiring them as he secretly flickered his eyes between the pages of the book and the three men seated behind him. Almost like being brought out of a haze, Frank jumped as Gerard returned to the space with box.

Gerard’s eyes met with Frank’s upon reentry. Small flecks of gold swam graciously within the deep hazel color, sending the message of warmth and happiness through the latter man’s mind. Without even noticing, Frank’s jaw had fallen slightly slack as he stared into the peering orbs of the pale-skinned man, his heart seeming to speed up as he drew closer. Gerard offered him a small smile before lifting his hand just beneath Frank’s chin, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Frank immediately snapped his mouth shut and swallowed thickly as Gerard’s hand fell back against the desk.

“There, that’s better. We do not want you catching any flies like that.” Gerard joked softly before his eyes flickered to the drawer that Frank had been sneaking glances in. He frowned slightly and immediately started knowing at his bottom lip, a soft gasp emitting from his lips.

“Those were not meant to be seen. I hope you did not take offense to them.” Within the short amount of time he had been interacting with the pale-skinned boy, Frank could not help but notice how much he apologized. Quite frankly, it began to rot at his nerves.

“You do not have to apologize so often, especially for being so talented.” He spoke, placing a comforting hand over Gerard’s that rested shakily upon the now closed book cover. Gerard quickly looked back at Frank, his gaze seemingly lost as his eyes flickered continuously around his face. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something, but the words never seeming to fall from his tongue. Frank smirked slightly before he decided to take a leap of faith: he raised his hand to Gerard’s chin in a similar manner and closed his mouth shut. “There, no flies for you either, Signor Way.”

The shade of pink once just graced the apples of Gerard’s cheeks was now leaking down onto his neck like thick paint. As the older boy went to say something, both parties jumped at the sound of a booming voice.

“Gerard, smettila di perdere tempo al signor Iero. Andare. Vada!” _**(Gerard, stop wasting Mr. Iero's time. Go. Go!)**_ Signor Pazzaglia’s voice rang through the tight walls of the cobbler’s shop, pulling the two men out of their trances. Gerard’s eyes were tightly shut as he gripped the sides of the desk, let his head hang slightly before nodding.

“Sì, signor. Mi dispiace…” He started to turn around and redirecting his attention to the fuming man in the back doorway before stopping himself and looking back at Frank. He tapped slightly on the box and pushed it more in his direction, offering a pained smile as Frank picked it up. “Mi dispiace, Signor Iero. Non succederà più.” _**(I am sorry, Mr. Iero. It will not happen again.)**_ Though filled with good intention, his words did not hold the slightest bit of genuineness. Frank fought back a small smile as he watched Gerard once again disappear into the back room of the Cobbler’s shop. He let out a soft sigh before turning around to see all the old men eyeing him down, now completely silent. He pursed his lips together and cleared his throat dramatically, puffing his chest out in an exaggerated manner.

“Finche ' non ci rivedremo, signori!” _**(Until we meet again, gentlemen!)**_ He said in an overtly cartoonish tone, saluting the men as he pushed the door open and marched out through the threshold. As soon as the door closed, he let his breath out and slumped over as he leaned against the wall, looking down at the box that contained his father’s shoes. Quickly, though, he realized some writing on top of the box that made him raise an eyebrow.

_“’Twas not I who remained uncomfortable as others looked on, but the angels. Ne’er there be a better glory than the face of a God who does not know the power that thee possess.”_

Frank inhaled sharply as he whipped his head back around to stare at the stained door he had just exited. The overwhelming urge to rush back in to where Gerard had last been and ask the meaning of the small yet enormously weighted note was immense, but Frank knew that if he did not return home soon, he would feel his father’s wrath even more so than what was already headed his way from the morning.

Reluctantly, Frank tightened his grip on the box and paced quickly to where he had left his trusty steed. He opened the pack that was attached to the side of her saddle before securing it and untying her reigns. He mounted the horse and started away from the piazza, back in the direction of his house, but not without stopping one more time to give the small shop that inhabited the peculiar Englishman a final look. His heart made an unmarked stutter before he turned back around, took a deep breath, and set back out to the secluded villa.


End file.
